Homecoming
by FrenchieLeigh
Summary: ONESHOT: Okita and his wife want nothing more than the one thing they can't have: a child. When the adoption agency calls them with a strange request, neither of them are able to refuse. Side fic to Striptease


**Author's Note: **This is more of like a sequel to _Love, Loss, Hope, Repeat_, mixed with a _Striptease_ side fic. I also have no idea how adoption agencies work in the U.S., never mind in Japan, I'm too excited about this fic to be bothered with research, so I'm making up my own rules for the _Striptease_ universe.

Though I'm pretty sure Shousha's upbringing in itself would be a red flag for any adoption agency and they wouldn't _let_ her adopt but, eh, money and power have their privileges I guess haha

Enjoy :D

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Rurouni Kenshin/Samurai X characters. ..or Toy Story. I do reserve the rights to all OCs

**Homecoming**

_He is a frightening child._

That was what they had been told.

Initially, when Okita and Shousha had made the decision to adopt a child, not having the ability to conceive, they had wanted an infant. This, of course, was the first choice for all couples wishing to adopt. Babies were far more desirable, as they were much easier to raise according to a couple's wishes, as opposed to trying to win over a child whose mind has been made up and habits firmly instilled.

This was not the case for the young policeman and his wife. They reason that _they_ desired a baby was simply because they had lost their own. There was nothing either of them wanted more than to hold a tiny human being in their arms and gush and coo over every tiny movement. They wanted to experience first words and first steps, to potty train and play games of imagination with cardboard boxes and laundry baskets.

They had waited for months, with no response from their agency. On the day that they had received a phone call, it had been nothing like what they had been expecting.

There was a child that had come to the agency, a young boy, six years old. He had been pulled from his abusive home after his mother had shot his father before his eyes and because if his delicate emotional and psychological state, it was imperative that he find a suitable home, lest he be taken into full government custody and locked away.

It was common knowledge that Shousha's parents, Yamata Kanako and Mori had treated their own daughter in cruel and heartless ways. It was through this knowledge, and circulation of gossip that the agency had thought perhaps the newly wed Okita couple might find themselves on common ground with the child. It was also well known, of course, how wealthy they were. Surely they would be able to support such a troubled boy.

Neither of them had been able to refuse.

They had received a photograph of the boy and while Shousha had wept over the picture, stroking the pixels of the boy's jet black hair, Okita had smiled silently while a haunting chill crawled up his spine.

It wasn't that he didn't share his wife's excitement. It wasn't even that he was disappointed that their child was older than they had imagined, or that raising him would be difficult.

It was that _smile_.

Okita knew that smile. He had lived with it for years. He had displayed it following his father's murder, and Shousha had, much to his horror, also worn that mask for the better part of her life. Neither of their facades, however, compared to that of this young child. Their son.

"Are you nervous?"

Okita held his wife's hand in a tight grip as they stared ahead at the agency door. It wasn't very noticeable, tucked in between two giant Tokyo office buildings, but it was the door that lead to their dreams. Because of that, all Shousha could do was smile.

"No," she told him, leaning into him, "I couldn't be happier."

As he pulled open the door and ushered her inside, he felt a wave of excitement come over him too. They had waited years for this moment. No matter what happened from this moment on, he would be a different sort of man. He was going to be a _father_.

He felt seventeen again, weightless, floating towards the ceiling after his tiny, devil may care girlfriend had announced her pregnancy. Back then his excitement had been naive and fate had put him back in his place, but this time would not end in blood, tears, and emotionless doctors. This time he would give everything he had, everything he was, into loving that child and keeping him safe.

When they checked in at the front desk, the secretary reviewed their file and raised her brows.

"Is something the matter?" Okita asked tenderly. He could feel Shousha shift beside him.

"Nothing of consequence sir," replied the young woman, too young to properly know her place in such delicate matters, "I just thought he'd be going to the hospital for certain."

Shousha sucked in a breath and her fingertips gripped the counter. "Is he alright? He's coming home today, isn't he?"

With a calming _shh_, Okita eased her back and the secretary realized her mistake.

"My apologies, ma'am. I only meant that he is troubled."

Shousha bristled, sensitive to the abused being referred to as _troubled_, but before she could lash out and cause a scene so typical of her, their case manager appeared with her intern.

"I am so glad you have come," she said, greeting them both warmly, "please, let's have a seat in my office. He is waiting for you."

Unable to contain herself, Shousha let out a little squeal, and Okita smiled at the antic. While he had his job to keep him occupied in the days they had waited to arrive in Tokyo for this, she had been at home, fidgeting.

The case manager held the door open for them and when they stepped into the modest room, both of their breaths caught in their throat.

He was _real._

"Okita-san, Okita-san," she addressed them, "meet Seta Soujiro."

The room was silent as they searched for their breath, and the small boy slid from the office chair he had been sitting rigid in. Standing before them, he looked up, first to Okita, studying him long and hard. After a silent approval, he turned his beautiful blue eyed gaze to Shousha.

"Hello, mother," he said happily, closing his eyes and smiling at her as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Shousha's heart exploded.

"This is a rather unusual situation," the woman began, settling down at her desk and pulling out some paperwork, "as it is not customary for a couple to simply come in once and leave with a child. We are not the neighborhood pound, after all. However, given who you are, and the severity of the situation, I have to offer you my sincerest thanks in assisting me in this matter."

But Shousha wasn't listening. Her face had seemingly turned itself inside out with joy and it was all she could do from scooping up the little boy and squeezing him as tightly as she could.

Okita heard everything the case manager had said, but had yet to acknowledge it. He was happy, elated even, but it while his wife was lost in her euphoria, he noticed the sharp pain behind Soujiro's smile and practiced politeness. It was unnerving really, and he was suddenly very thankful for both having dealt with Shousha's abuse, as well as his formal police training. This child was a ticking bomb and he might very well blow at any moment.

"Would you like to come home with us, Soujiro?" he asked carefully. He was generally very good with children, having several nieces and nephews, but now he wasn't sure if he was coming off as condescending or not. Six was a tricky age for a child, where they were still small, but, on the cusp of seven, knew very well that they weren't babies.

"Do you do drugs?"

It was a surprising question, bringing embarrassment down upon the two agency workers, but Okita waved off their unease with a laugh. This was a life changing time for all of them. If the boy had questions about his new home before leaving with them, he would be more than happy to answer them.

"No," he replied, "we do not do drugs."

Soujiro accepted this with a nod. "Do you drink?"

Okita nodded. "We do enjoy a glass of wine with our dinner, but if it bothers you, we will not."

This too seemed to pass his test. For his last question, Soujiro stared up at his new father, horrifying grin growing wider by the second. He flicked his happy grin towards Shousha, and then back to Okita.

"Do you like to hurt her?" he asked, eyes wide, smile broad, and expression of what looked to be... _excitement._

Even though they had been told of the life he had with his parents, this question surprised, and even offended Okita. Of course he didn't enjoy hurting his wife! In fact, her happiness was all he desired. How on earth could someone assume that he would be so cruel not only to hit her, but to _take pleasure _init?

Shousha sensed this. She knew that her husband couldn't fathom such a question from a child, and she didn't fault him for it. Kneeling to the child's level, she took his tiny hands in hers.

"Your new papa has never hurt me," she told him solemnly, but with a soft edge that inched away from chastising, "he is a kind man and he loves me very much."

"That's what father always told her," Soujiro said, his icy words clashing violently against his sunny disposition, "but he did it anyway."

"I have no temper," Okita said, stepping in, "when I am angry I am silent, and I keep to myself so as not to infect the house."

"What about you?" Soujiro asked Shousha, "do you get angry too?"

"More than I'd like to," she admitted. "but when I do, I paint. Pigment and canvas do not feel pain, and they are happy to bear mine."

Once the final paperwork was signed, Soujiro slipped his hand into Shousha's and allowed his new parents to lead them from the building.

He wouldn't miss that place, he decided. Even though he had smiled the entire time, the other children had not treated him kindly. He had never said anything rude, or did anything mean to them, but whenever he had walked into the room, they huddled together in hushed voices before turning to gang up on him.

_You're a freak!_ they would shout.

_No one will take you home!_

_ Your face is scary! Make it stop!_

He never minded the cruel words they spoke, not really. He knew that if he stayed there long enough, they would all find homes and then he could be alone. Or maybe the doctors would take him away. There had been much talk of that as well.

_They're coming to take Soujiro away!_

They had even made a game of it, barricading him into various corners or play houses.

_Lock him up! Lock him up! _they sang, _lock away the crazy boy!_

But now here he was, standing out in the sunshine with two people who said they liked him. They _wanted _him. It was a strange notion and he wasn't entirely sure what he thought of it. His parents had certainly not wanted him, that much was clear. They also hadn't wanted each other, and that was the first way that they differed from the two grown ups at his side.

When they boarded the train for Kyoto, Soujiro took the seat next to Okita, sitting awkwardly beside the man who he suddenly realized he resembled so much. Maybe this was his _real _father. His mother had always had a lot of man friends coming and going when she was alone at home and Soujiro distinctly remembered all the fights his parents had over his legitimacy. He was too young to understand the details, but there had been room for doubt apparently, and it may have been that his father was simply _not_.

But this man, this Okita papa, did not seem the type of man to become bedtime friends with his mother. He hadn't yelled once, not even when he had been bumped by a rude man, or when there was a delay at the ticket window. He smelled good, his clothes were clean, and when he smiled, he didn't look like he was about to hit anyone (namely Soujiro) with his belt.

Shousha sat across from them and flashing an excited grin at her husband, looked to Soujiro.

"What sort of things do you like, Soujiro?" she asked, pulling her legs up onto the cushioned seat with her and hugging her knees, resting her chin on them and looking across the compartment with a smile, "we have a dog."

"I like weapons," he replied bluntly.

Both sets of chocolate brown eyes widened and while Shousha cleared her throat awkwardly, Okita looked down at the small boy by his side.

"Why are you so interested in weapons?" he wondered, keeping his tone questioning, and not degrading.

"You are a police officer aren't you?"

"Yes," Okita replied gently, "I am."

Soujiro shifted with a shrug. "You have a gun, so you know."

Unable to follow the child's vague reasoning, he leaned over with a soft smile. "I don't think I do. Could you enlighten me?"

Smiling as always, Soujiro gripped his pants, several sizes too small for him, and his eyes shone with excitement. "You can't get hurt if you have a weapon. If you have gun, you can protect yourself. You're better. Faster. Stronger."

The thought capacity that this six year old possessed was indeed frightening. He didn't think or speak like an innocent child, but like a reckless teenager trying to justify a rebellion.

Okita sat back calmly. "Have you ever used this advantage?"

"No," his son replied firmly, the wonder in his expression almost too much for his face to contain, "but _she_ did."

Of course. His mother. Okita wondered what sort of relationship he had with the woman. She had been just as active in his torture as the man listed on the birth certificate, but he supposed he shouldn't take clues from Soujiro's expressions or words. They were both a clear defense mechanism.

"Are you proud of her?"

Soujiro looked up at his new mother to find her eyes blank and her mouth unsmiling. She hadn't been harsh with her words, but neither did she sound happy.

"I am glad that what she did took me away," he replied cheerfully, "otherwise I wouldn't be here with you!"

At once, Shousha's face softened and her feet hit the floor as she scrunched up and cooed over his verbal approval of them. Okita was not so convinced. It seemed the defense mechanism had another purpose. Manipulation.

He had seen it twice already in the short time they had been together. While Shousha had tried to run from the horror that had been her childhood, Soujiro had chosen to _learn_ from it. He could see that his Shousha's mind was in one place and was using it to his advantage. For such a young boy, the intelligence his brain produced was much more advanced than his age. It was no wonder his adoption had been so urgent.

Digging in her purse for her wallet, Shousha hummed a small tune, and when she stood, put one hand on her hip as she slid open the door.

"I'm going to get a snack," she said, "do you want anything?"

Soujiro looked up with an appreciative smile. "I like anything, thank you."

Biting her lip to contain a squeak, she flounced out of the room.

Once they were alone, Okita reached into his back pocket and withdrew his own wallet.

"You don't need a weapon to be a strong person," he told Soujiro, pulling out a worn photograph and handing it to him. "This was the strongest man in the universe and he never used one."

Soujiro accepted the photograph, staring at the burly man with kind eyes. He was a well groomed fellow, dressed in a suit and tie, but his power was unquestionable.

"Guns aren't always used for protection, Soujiro. Oftentimes they are used to hurt people."

"Anything can hurt someone," he replied, not taking his eyes off the still man who stared at him.

"That is true," Okita replied, "that is because hurting people is easy. You do not need strength to hurt a person. But kindness," he tapped the photograph, "is much more difficult to achieve."

For the first time, Soujiro's smile disappeared from his face as he studied the picture and considered what Okita had told him.

"I don't know what that means," he said truthfully.

"That's alright," Okita assured him, "we will help you. You have nothing to fear anymore. You're safe."

"Safe." Soujiro tested out the word. He had never known what it meant. He knew what it was supposed to mean, and what he wanted it to mean, but until now, he had never found any truth in it.

Shousha entered, arms piled full of sweets.

"You can keep that," Okita whispered to Soujiro as he accepted a snack cake.

"Who is he?" he asked, clutching his new treasure.

Okita smiled down at him. "My father. I hope to be just like him."

Excited by the treats that Shousha was offering him, Soujiro placed the picture of the grandfather he would never meet beside him, smoothing it out affectionately.

When he reached for a box of mens pocky (dark chocolate was for boys, he decided.) and her eyes fell on his knuckles, marred by red marks, he jerked his hands back and flashed her a grin.

"You don't have to hide them, Sou," she told him.

"They're ugly," he laughed, "it's rude to be ugly."

Shousha raised her brows. Is that what he had been told? Had he been punished, then taught that his welts and scars were unsightly? Had he been punished for that too?

Setting aside her sweets, Shousha unbuttoned her cardigan without a word, and peeled the sleeves from her arms. Sitting in her short sleeved blouse, she turned her arms over to expose the soft underflesh and presented them to him.

When his eyes widened and he dropped his snack, she gave him an encouraging smile.

"You don't have to hide them. My parents didn't love me either."

Dotted up both of her arms, were the same circular, hole punch sized scars. Hers were lighter, fading from the years of healing, but there was no denying that she, too, had been used to extinguish cigarettes. Sometimes they had been lit for the sole reason of being put out on her delicate flesh.

"Is that why you took me home?"

Pulling her arms back and relaxing, she took a deep breath. "We couldn't let the doctors take you away."

Soujiro looked up at Okita again, eyes filled with question. "Do you have the marks too?"

"No," he replied quietly, "no one hurt me."

"Sous- your papa was my someone," Shousha told the small boy, "he was the person who helped me when it hurt, and who made me smile when I couldn't."

Soujiro considered this. He had never had a someone. If ever he complained about pain, more was administered, and he had learned at an early age to keep a smile on his face no matter what. Even still, despite what his face may have displayed, he did feel like crying. He always felt hurt, and there was no one to play with him, or to put a band aid on his knee.

"We love you, Soujiro." Okita wrapped a tentative arm around the boy's shoulders, and breathed a sign of relief when he leaned into him instead of shrinking away, "no matter what. You are our son and we love you unconditionally."

Soujiro didn't know what that meant, but it sounded like it might be nice.

By the time the train arrived in Kyoto, it was mid afternoon and everyone was hungry. Snacks only filled one up for a small amount of time, after all.

Spreading her arms, Shousha spun around. "Welcome to Kyoto!"

"Is it nice here?" he asked, clinging to Okita's sweater as they met the bustle of the streets. He didn't like commotion. Things were difficult to study, difficult to anticipate in commotion.

"It's very nice," Okita replied, taking his wife's hand as the three journeyed across a busy intersection, "you will like our house, and our friends very much, I think."

"Can I have friends?"

"Of course you can have friends!" Shousha laughed, skipping ahead, "have as many friends as you want!"

"I think I like her," Soujiro whispered up to his new father.

This made Okita grin, happy that his first few hours of parenthood had not been a complete disaster.

"She will make you very happy," he replied, pulling open the door of a restaurant and guiding him inside, "and it is _our_ goal to make her happy."

"Why?"

"Because she is your mother now."

The trio sat down, and Shousha presented Soujiro with a menu. "This is the best restaurant in our neighborhood," she told him, "and you've got to eat up because I have to go grocery shopping tomorrow morning."

Okita rolled his eyes playfully and Soujiro let out a few 'wow's as he flipped through the photos displayed on the menu. He had never been to a restaurant before.

Two people entered the restaurant then and the shrill, excited cry of a young girl resonated through the entire place.

"SHOU'S HERE!"

A little girl with blue black hair and eyes like tiny sapphires darted out from the care of a teenage boy and hurried over to the table, coming up short when her eyes fell upon Soujiro. She looked at him intently, squinting her eyes, then stepping back and crossing her arms.

"You're funny looking," she said finally.

Soujiro laughed. "No I'm not," he protested lightly.

"Misao," Okita said gently, "this is our son, Soujiro."

For a moment, she looked confused, but, ignoring Okita completely, bit down on her lip, furrowed her brows, and pouted at Shousha.

"Did you take someone else's kid because you don't know how to make your own?"

"No," she replied defensively, though why she was so insulted by a five year old, she'd never know.

It was then that the teenager, a rather tall boy, with icy eyes and stony expression, came up to the table and ushered Misao behind him.

"Forgive me," he said, bowing, "but my sister has yet to learn social graces."

Okita laughed. "It's quite alright, Aoshi-kun," he said, dismissing the child's remark with a wave of his hand, "children mean well."

"Yes," Aoshi replied stiffly, "we will leave you be, then."

"Wait!" Soujiro's voice surprised even himself. When Misao peeked around from her brother's legs, he sat back and gave her a bright smile. "Will you be my someone?"

She looked up, then she looked around, and then finally back to the boy who had stolen the heart of her favourite grown up friend.

"Yeah, I guess so."

Satisfied, Soujiro turned in his chair and simply smiled down at the table. "I have a someone," he whispered.

Their late lunch went by without a hitch, Okita making jokes, Shousha snorting in her water, and Soujiro simply soaking up the feeling of being wanted. He liked this family, he could say that with honesty. He had known from the second he had left the agency that they were the real kind of parents, not the fake kind that he had.

He was still nervous, as if one step out of line might turn his new father into a demon, or that his new mother might suddenly decide that her water glass might look better in shards in his skin, but none of that ever happened. She _did_ knock her water over once, but that had been an accident.

And he hadn't been punished for it.

The best, by far, however, was when they left. On the sidewalk of the busy city, Okita crouched low and looked over his shoulder.

"Want a ride?"

Soujiro looked at him in question, but Okita simply grinned, "you must be tired. Hop on."

He had seen piggy back rides before, a couple of times at school, and once on television, but he had dreamed all of his days that one day his father would pull the needle from his arm, roll off the couch, and say, 'Soujiro, let's go for a ride!'

It had never happened, of course. His father was too invested in his drug use to even acknowledge his son half the time. In the event that he _had_ wanted to move more than the six steps from the couch to the bathroom (and even that was rare), the house was filled near the brim with trash, dirty clothes, and various paraphernalia used on the journey to getting high enough to defy reality.

But right here, right now, his dream was coming true. He looked up at Shousha who nodded enthusiastically, and with a running start, leapt onto Okita's back, letting out a genuine laugh when the man stood.

"I'm so tall!" Soujiro cried.

Shousha laughed and gave Okita a jab in the ribs. "I bet you've never heard that before," she teased.

It was true and he acknowledged it with a playful narrowing of his eyes. "Five three is tall for a six year old," he pouted.

When they finally arrived at home, Soujiro slid down slowly until his toes reached the marble tile of the entryway.

"This is a _house_?"

Shousha shrugged sheepishly. She had never been ashamed of her fortune before, but somehow this young boy was making her want to brush it off as if it weren't such a big deal.

"This is your house," she told him, curling her toes excitedly as he took in his surroundings with wonder. "would you like to see your bedroom?"

"Oh yes, mother!" he cried, scrambling for her hand. "do I get my own bed?"

Okita followed behind quietly as they climbed up the stairs to the second floor. Shousha opened the door to the bedroom they had decorated together, and when he reached over to flick the light on, Soujiro gasped.

The walls were a modest blue, matching the color of his eyes exactly, and a bed in the shape of a pirate ship complete with a staircase and slide (for a fun start to the day!) or, if one should so choose, a fireman's pole painted to mimic the mast. In the crows nest was a reading nook, lined with pillows and blankets and below decks, under the bed, was a desk with several shelves, the perfect cubby for working on homework.

In one corner of the room, a palm tree had been painted on the wall and three small beanbag chairs made to look like giant coconuts were arranged as a lounge area. A treasure chest housed more costumes than one child could think up, but what caught Soujiro's eye the most was a detail that stood apart from the theme of the room entirely. Seated in one of the beanbag chairs, was a stuffed figure of Buzz Lightyear

Soujiro didn't say anything at first. Okita waited patiently, but Shousha's breathing had noticeably quickened.

Without a sound, he padded over to the bean bags and carefully, lifted the plush from its place.

"Buzz is my favourite," he said quietly. There was no false cheer in his voice, and for once, no hint of a smile on his face. He had let his guard down, and even if it was only in this moment, it was _this_ moment that Okita cherished. It was in this moment that he knew that this child was a blessing. Nothing, no matter how difficult it may be to reach him after this, nothing could make him think otherwise.

Shousha, however, broke down.

This frightened Soujiro, and his smile reappeared instantaneously. With one hand firmly around Mr. Lightyear's stuffed wrist, he crossed the room and crouched before her, looking up curiously.

"Why are you crying, mother?"

"I'm just so happy," she replied, wiping her eyes and pressing her hand to her chest and she hiccuped.

"Crying is for when you're sad," he pointed out, but she didn't acknowledge this. Instead, she reached out and pulled him close.

"I am so thankful for you," she whispered.

It was like a dream for all of them and when Okita crouched down to give the stunned Soujiro a kiss on the forehead, none of them wanted it to end. After six years, they had finally been able to attain what they had been striving for. Okita and Shousha, what they had lost, and Soujiro, what he hadn't know he had been searching for.

As he knelt there letting his new mother empty her happiness into his hair, he gripped the back of her sweater with one hand, and with the other, pulled out the picture of Okita Katsujiro, holding it up.

If this new father, his _papa_ wanted to be like this man, so strong with kindness and wisdom, then so did he.

xxxx

**Author's Notes:** I hope you enjoyed that little family fic. I'm still not used to writing things where everyone gets what they want so if any of it was awkward, well there you go. There wasn't enough bloodshed and broken hearts for me to feel confident writing this, but it was too cute a thought to pass up.

Also, I'm insanely exhausted, and my face has broken out in hives because of wedding stress, so I'll come back and fix my mega typos tomorrow morning. I'm clocking out tonight hah


End file.
